Junkie
by Axena
Summary: You have to understand, to see, that I needed Edward to be real. Needed him like a drug.
1. Desperation

My body is convulsing I need my next fix. My body craves for it and my mind chokes at the thought. I know I'm fucked up, but I can't help it. My body needs it. Must have it. A small tune plays in the background as I inject the syringe into my already punctured skin. A vain, I cant find it, I start to panic. If I don't have it soon I will go mad. My hands are clumsy as they try to squeeze my arms, irritation swells inside me. Screaming out I chuck the needle at wall and then pathetically I whimper delusional apologies. I awkwardly get up my body trembling and shaking a light cover of sweat wrapped around my body like a second layer of skin. I kiss the spiny needle and take notice of my grimy hands. Black soot covers them and I immediately feel thick disgust at my current state, how did I reach this point? What drove me to it? I can't remember. The tune is back and stronger, a slight melody that clams my twitching body and places me in a dream like state.

"_Well I could sleep forever"_

A voice that is slightly scratchy in a comforting way washes over me. I am laying down now. I have had a small victory in this never-ending war. The drugs have not overpowered me and I am slightly grateful but desperate at the same time. Dual emotions inside a body, no, my body, I must acknowledge what I have become. It's important. I lift my eyelids heavily and look up the cracked and caving ceiling my hands at my sides, my body, immobile. My greasy hair creates a halo around my gaunt face. I must resemble a living corpse. I think because I haven't eaten in days. My stomach aches just thinking about it. I wasted my last spare change on this last fix, and I won't be able to use it tomorrow.

Acting on its own, my body lifts its self up. I have lost a war I thought I had won. The need, desperation, the want, crave, is over overwhelming. I search blindly for the syringe I know will calm me… sedate me. Victoriously I have found a vein and with a deep sigh, I inject the object into my pale skin. I rock back and forth in short strokes, the high –I fancy- is almost like what an orgasm must feel like. I don't know for sure. I feel my eyes rolling back. I quiver and shake in pleasure, the drug is doing its job and in my movements I feel my oily hair sticking to my face. I am ready to sleep. The hunger has been fed.

At least for today.

"_If I could sleep forever" _

__

The light streaming in from the pieces of wood stuck to the empty window alert me that a day has passed. Possibly noon. My sweater feels heavy, and my jeans feel loose, more so than before. I am dressed in all black, it makes hiding how possibly revolting I am easier. The song is back and there is a futuristic touch to it. I don't know where I have heard it before but its my only companion, a soothing voice comes out now, _aAhaAHhaAHAhh_. I like this tune, there aren't many words, just sounds. It's comforting. I've heard to many words, too many too count. I enjoy silence now.

For once my body isn't shaking and I stumble out of the deceased building, my hood helps block out the sun. I don't need it, don't want it either, my preference lies in rainy towns now. The sun exposes my true colors, (what clichéd bullshit that is, at least to me) but it describes what happens. In the sun, people can speculate and ask questions, they can notice the grime, the filth, the grease, the stench. Questions I am not inclined to answer. I walk the deserted streets. The tune has ended and I am left with a deafening silence. A silence I have cast upon my self. I weakly join the other junkies, today they seem to have chosen a place that was once a garbage dump and now serves as residence for homeless people. There are fires set up here and there, the smoky smell is delectable and I find my self inhaling it, breathing it in. I suppose you could say I am addicted to many things, some more than others.

There is a boy that comes to talk to me every day, I suspect he is a Mormon but I don't say anything to drive away his company, I enjoy the small connection with the accepted world. There is nothing that gives away his piety but I have nicknamed him the Mormon boy because of his kindness. He is approaching me now and oh thank god! He has food!

"Hey there Bella" his usual greeting, I nod in response. I told you, I'm not fond of too many words. That means speaking them, hearing them…you name it. He notices my hungry stare, to tell you the truth, if my body was any stronger I would have launched myself at him and greedily gulped down all of its contents. I'm pathetic, I accept that.

"Hungry?" he motions the bag towards me but he pulls away quickly. Sneaky little bastard. I know what he wants but today I don't want to give it to him. The Mormon boy wants me to talk, but _fuck_ my stomach is growling like crazy. He hasn't shown up in a couple of days and I am desperate. Sad, I know. These days it seems all I feel is desperation, always there. Always.

I clear my throat and his eyes brighten a little.

"Let me eat first" my voice I gruff from under use and I have to clear my throat twice before continuing. He is expectant today and really I don't give a dam right now.

"Hey Jacob, I'm hungry can I please get some of your delicious food?" _longest_ sentence by _far._ He should be pleased.

"Easy, right?" he asks. I grunt in response and extend my hand, expectantly. He hands over the white plastic bag and my self disgust reaches a new low as I see the sharp contrast. The clean sterile bag against my sooty dusty hands. I soil everything I touch. I need to hear his voice, have some sort of normalcy in this "life" I'm carrying so I ask. I talk.

"Tell me about what you did today?" I ask a as spoon full of food is shoved into my mouth. His eyebrows lift and I give him a pointed glance that says 'don't push it'.

"Nothing much to tell, Billy is going away on some trip, I have the house all to myself now." He waves his eyebrows suggestively and I cannot help but chuckle. I know he wasn't actually serious, if I've learned anything about Jacob from these small encounters is that he down right the perfect gentle man when it comes to girls. Too pure (in my eyes) to do something like that.

"Seriously though" He continues.

"You need a bath; I can happily lend you my shower." Any other girl my age would consider this dangerous, would think his intensions far more unsafe than just the typical helping civilian helping hand. Jacob isn't like that though. He is going to be in for a big surprise right about now. I usually refuse his offers of help but today I don't want to. In answer to his suggestion I shrugged my shoulders in a 'why not gesture'.

"Seriously?" He says a little surprised. I nod.

"Well ok then! Let's go!" his mood uplifting I find my self giving him a small smile. I don't know what's with this boy. One day he just shows up and showers me with a certain kindness I have not encountered in a long time. I can't do anything but accept it. I am too desperate. There goes that word again. Huh.

We walk to his car, a silver truck and I grimace thinking about the damage I am about to cause to his leather seats, apparently he has the same idea, his look isn't any better than mine. It gives me a small amount of relief to know that he is at least normal when it comes to cars.

"Would you mind… I mean… well taking off your… sweater?" He asks nervously, I comply, after all this guy is about to offer me one of the greatest gifts ever invented, the chance to shower. My scars don't matter right now and besides he should know how royally messed up I am anyways. I slowly shrug out of my heavy oversized sweater and hear him gasp, I avoid looking into his eyes, fearing the pity I may see there. I **loathe** pity stares.

He quietly opens the car door for me and waits until I am fully inside before closing it, I told you chivalrous. I examine my self and find that my sweater has successfully kept most of the grime out of my tank top, it resembles an off white, an improvement I suppose. Anger is swelling up inside me as I stare at the many incisions all over my arms specially the area that I use to relive the desperate need for drugs. My teeth are locked, anger is directed solely at me, no one else because no one else is too blame for the disorder that I have created.

We drive in relative comfortable silence and I notice the small changes in the housing. Crappy run down, relatively new, nice yard, trees, bushes, porches, larger houses. It's like going through a time line. I take notice that Jacob lives in the nicer parts of Phoenix and I am not surprised.

"Here we are" his voice brings me back to the present and I turn my head to look out the window again after acknowledging him. His house I nice, a bit small for this area but it looks cozy. I am not a complete imbecile, so I force my self to talk. He is being overly generous and deserves to know that I am truly eternally grateful, I don't say as much though.

"Thank you" I say looking into his eyes, they seem to smile and shine, like the sun.

"You are very welcome" and then he is out of the car and opening my door. We walk to his house and he shows me were all things are. I leave my clothes out for him as he requested. He wants to wash them. I would too, if I were him.

The water feels nice against my skin, a gentle caress. I turn the knob and the water heats up rapidly, I squeeze shampoo and scrub and scratch week's worth of filth out of my hair. Next comes my body, I grab the small piece of soap and leather my hands, and then I too scratch and scrub all of the filth away. The water at my feet has changed color it is now a muddy brown, I frown as its building up and pull the plug. The water chugs down making a certain gulping sound. My dirt is washed away. I feel alive again.

The shower has allowed me to think. I need to change. I know that.

I have to.

"_If I could sleep forever I could forget about everything"_ the tune is back.

__

After I showered, Jacob took the liberty of feeding me some cereal and we sat in his couch and watched TV. Something I haven done in months. His house looks expensive and I am careful not to touch too much. As I said, I soil all I touch. Its night now and he has shown me a room where I can sleep. I am sleeping in his clothing because mine are still drying. I have unpleasant dreams that night, they are about my life before I fucked it up. I wake up shaking and shivering, cold sweat covering me. It's something I do when I haven't had my fix in a while. I cannot do drugs though, not anymore, I have more will power than that.

Don't I?


	2. Memories

My eyes feel crusted over with tears, I must have cried. It is still early, you may say that it is too early but I cannot sleep anymore. The flowing sounds are back, I suspect it might have been something that my mom used to hum or listen too. Take your pick, it doesn't really matter anymore. The small window of Jacobs's guest room illuminates the bed with sliver lighting and I stare at it, thinking back to my semi normal life. At least what was normal to _me_.

When I recall such things, I like to think of my self as a third party, a watcher of sorts, if you will.

_There is a girl coming into a relatively nice house, her hair is down and she is wearing a pair of worn jeans with a slightly outdated shirt. She is all smiles. She calls out to her mother. Reene is her name. Her whole stance is relaxed, her mother has promised to stop and she is certain that she will. There seems to be a slow grunting sound coming from the bathroom and the girl is rapidly panicked. What if some intruders came in and harmed her mother? She is ready to fend of any attackers, her anger not making her see that any attempt at such an atrocity would surely just complicate things. _

_Her steps are quick but a bit scattered and she has to find support many times in order not to fall. With a strong shove, she pushes off the white wood door and the air is knocked out of her. Her mother is lying in a pool of blood and there is shattered glass thrown across the white tiled floor. There is a needle close to her hand and her look is that of pure bliss. Hot, traitor tears prick the girl's eyes. Her mother promised. Promised Dam it! _

_Shoving aside the anger she feels, she runs out and almost falls down the stairs in her hurry. Snatching the phone off its hook, she fumbles over the numbers 9-1-1. She's been successful is taking care of her mom before but this is too much, her mom is loosing too much blood. Her mom is dying. The voice on the other end asks for her 'emergency' and the girl is able to stutter out what has happened. The female voice keeps her on the line until the ambulance arrives. There will be social workers trying to pry and "fix" this issue, they will separate them and she will go into foster care. The girl doesn't want that, she wants to stay with her mother. She is also realistic and sees that this life is not healthy for her, that all they have in mind is her best interest. The girl quietly cries as her mother is taken away in a gurney. _

I stop there; I've had enough reminiscence for one day. The light has now turned a cool yellow and I feel my stomach grumbling. That memory suddenly makes everything feel claustrophobic and I am gasping for air. My hands instinctively scratch at my throat; they (my hands) seem to think they can rip open my esophagus and force oxygen into my lungs. I run out of the room, the spacious living room helps a little but I am still disoriented, I am not strong enough to be running around like that and the room seems to spin.

I need to get out.

I grab the note pad from Jacob's kitchen and in my almost illegible writing, I scribble down my infinite apologies. I truly am sorry. I also write down the massive thank you's. I explain my self and tell him I have enjoyed his company, I tell him I will forever be indebted to him. Witch is true. Then I run out to the back yard and snatch my customary dark clothing from the hangers. Black pants, black sweater, black everything. Running back inside I rip off the over sized shirt and place my pants and sweater on, they are still a little damp but this isn't something I am not used to.

I need to escape, the need is overpowering.

I place the note where I am sure he will spot it and then I am out the door.

I run, there are no dark alleys here and I feel extremely exposed. The sun is shining down but at least I look remotely presentable. My speed causes my lungs to ache and burn and I have to stop to catch some air. I need water but have no money to buy some. Walking seems safer and I opt for that path. By nightfall I am back into the grimy dumps of crappy Phoenix, were I belong. My eyes feel tired and I decide that for just tonight, I will sleep here. Tomorrow I have to leave. No, escape, that's more fitting.

I wake up in the same decayed building; my inner clock seems to have changed, I now only wake up in the late hours of the early morning. I creep my way out, the smell, the pull is strong but I have to fight it. I have no idea were I am going so I walk aimlessly but at the same time, with a blurry destination. I've read many books, back when I had a semi normal life and I try to conjure up any memories of places that are small and dark and reachable. Forks, Washington comes to mind. The rainiest place in the continental US.

Perfect.

That is going to be a hell of a trip but I am up for it. I need to clear my head.

__

A week has passed and I have acquired a job. Big accomplishment, and guess what? I've stayed clean for a whole _fucking_ week, this is cause for celebration. Unfortunately, I have no one to celebrate it with but now that I know where I am going I have a small amount of hope. I still wake up shaking violently and sweating a cold perspiration that scares the shit out of me. I still live on the streets. There is no other choice. I am known by my co-workers as the out cast, by choice. I don't mind it. They leave me alone I can live with this. There is a persistent guy that keeps on bugging me. He thought he could break me, I heard him snickering about it to his pimpled, greasy faced posse. What a bitch.

His name is Mike and he is approaching me right now, I am stirring the greasy, plastic smelling fries of a Mc Donald fast food place. How people can eat this disgusting shit is beyond me. The smell itself it revolting.

"Bella!" he exclaims as if we are long lost friends. What a prick. I ignore him, as is routine for me.

"What's coking good looking?" it sounds sickening coming off his mouth, I respond with my usual 'fuck off' but today he is persistent. More like a freaking inconvenience if you ask me.

"Bells C'mon" he tries to make a grab at me and I fling the hot greasy oil in my spatula at him. The greasy substance misses him by an inch and I stare at him, eyes unapologetic. I am having a particularly shitty day. The need is stronger than ever and it takes all I have not to run out side and beg one of my trusted sellers to give me another dose of peace. I move my weapon in a stabbing motion and he yelps back frightened. I am enjoying his girly attitude, this fits him more than that cocky demeanor he always carries with him. I feel my eyes closing in as I glare at him.

"Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone." I say slowly and in a low voice annunciating every word with a stab of my spatula in his direction. Once he is gone I turn back to my fries and allow my self a small smile. I probably resemble a raging lunatic right now but quite frankly I don't give a rats ass. Mike needed to step of his prissy pedestal.

The manager fired me that afternoon.

Fucking Mike had to go whinny on me and tell him what I had done. Fucking pussy can't do anything himself. I sound like a trucker right now but I can't help it. The street talk is instilled in me and I find it's an automatic thing when I am angry. I take off my apron on the spot and throw it in his face, I am a violent vixen today, it seems.

A trip to the library is in order. I shuffle in, the quiet, the calm, engulfing me. The pale yellow lights are dim and cozy. Warm. Everybody seems to have a purpose here and I suppose I do too. I am going to figure out how to get to Forks. I hit the ON button on the ancient computer and wait for the bright blue light to pop up. The computer doesn't disappoint.

After waiting for a couple of minutes, I type into the address bar and then click on maps. Typing in the Phoenix and Forks Washington in their respective places I tap my foot waiting for the computer to load the new site.

I stare at the small screen, by car it only takes a day. Just one day. I can reach my safe heaven in ONE day. My feelings are that of an elated child on Christmas Eve, this is truly like my own personal gift. I leave the library grinning. Who the fuck needs a job anyway?

__

"_I am having trouble sleeping, I'm thinking of what you said_"

My body aches in all the wrong places. My waist is sore, my hands almost anesthetized, my head is pulsating and I can feel the acid in my body perforating my stomach. I haven't eaten in a while. The hunger pangs are getting harder to endure. I succumbed to deft and stole a piece of bread from the basket of the sleeping granny that was sitting next to me. _Oh wonderful, sweet, benevolent, wheat bread_. I felt guilty and was once again consumed by self loathing. The nice woman I had stolen my food from had tried to converse with me and I had shut her down, I was apologizing by having some of her home made bread. I was real asshole.

My need is coming back full force. I wake up quivering and sweating in my coach seat, the bus driving steadily beneath me, I predict t may be a about 1 AM. I feel like throwing up or maybe just dry heaving. I stumble my way to the bathroom a hand on my aching stomach. I try to be discrete about it though, no need to attract unnecessary attention.

There is small hand sanitizer near the sink and I place small amounts inside my palms. I have the weirdest idea. I picture those sanitizing lotions washing away my sins and forming me into a perfect and pure person. Fat chance of that ever happening. I need redemption.

I am left weak again; as my body tries to empty itself out and finds there is nothing left. My back hurts and my throat feels like it is on fire. I lift my self up and get out. It seems my violent racks have alerted someone, he stares at me. His blond long hair and calm aura gives me a strange calming affect. I look away.

Shakily I sit down again and press my head against the headrest, another memory over takes me.

_The girl is told to pack a bag with only the essentials; she nods quickly and rushes up the stares. She must be strong, strong for herself, for her mother. They haven't told her anything yet. No news on her mothers current state. She is worried and it settles on her features in the form mask. Although they have told her to take only the most necessary things, she grabs her mothers sketch book and couple of her paintings. This is the only way she feels; she will have her mother present at all times. _

_They are driving to the hospital and the crisp social worker is babbling on about inconsequential things. She does not feel inclined to listen. Cutting her off she asks what has happened to her mother and the nervous babble ceases immediately. The social worker replies with in a small voice that her mother is in a grave state and may not recover. She is addicted to heroin and is a possible alcoholic, then there is also the problem of her self induced cuts. She doesn't think Reene Swan is capable of taking care of her only daughter. The brown haired girl feels she should argue, but can't she knows she has taken care of her mother, not vice versa and is depressed by the thought._

_They arrive at the hospital and the girl rushes to her mother's side, taking her hand and lightly caressing the bandages that covered the healing wrists. Small stray tears escaped her and she silently prayed to god to make her mother well again. _


	3. Encounter

I wake up shivering; its cold as fuck and it feels like someone turned on the AC to -100 degrees. I rub my eyes trying to will sleep away, looking down I see my sweater on the base of the bus. Shit. I quickly slip my arms through it and hold it tightly against my shivering body. The other people on the bus are bustling around me, we haven't reached Forks yet, the sun is shining too brilliantly for Forks. People are getting out, mumbling about the need for sustenance, or in other words, food. A sharp pain shoots through my stomach and I double over slightly, the people around me remain oblivious. I am relieved. Well except for the blond haired dude, I saw yesterday, he is staring at me. I grow microscopically annoyed.

What's his issue?

From the corner of my eye, I see him stand up and when he passes me, an apple falls "accidently" from his hand and into my lap. His stare suddenly makes sense; he has seen my scars, the scabby holes, and he feels pity for me. I fucking loathe pity stares, you know that reader. The urge to hit this man is strong and I fight against it. Why waste a perfectly good apple? My brain is trying to reason with me. An apple is just begging me to bite it, taste it, and eat it. So I do, I swallow my pride along with a substantial taste of the forbidden fruit.

The feeling of the chewed apple as it slowly makes its descent down my throat is amazing and with it, other desires push through. Having a full stomach, my body wants to follow its usual custom. Get high. I cannot let that happen, not now. Getting a good grip on the armrest I squeeze like there is no tomorrow. I shut my eyes. My jaw is tense and I probably appear a bit wild. I am glad that the bus is almost empty.

The want is so powerful though, it assaults my body and there seems to be no atonement for what it's doing, the force rages on. I try to strategize how I will get my next fix and my body seems to calm down a small degree. For the remainder of the ride to Forks I plan, think, manipulate what each scenario will resemble, I cannot allow my self to think of the actual act, though my mind seems to want to go there. It would be too much if I did; I would surely loose all sense of the meager control I have acquired.

I hear the bus slowly screech to a halt, it exhales and the bus shakes slightly. There is a moment of silence before the bustle of movement brakes it. Stepping out I realize it is unattractively cold out here but my sweater will have to suffice for the night. I try to avoid all densely populated areas. That's when I smell it. Oh god.

Automatically my body begins to shake and I breathe in, deeply. _Oh no you fucking don't_, I rebuke my desires as my hands grip handfuls of hair and pull. I am stronger than this, I am, I am, I chant. This is the ultimate test. I don't realize it, but my legs have started to shakily make their way to the source. The wonderful, sweet, mouthwatering-

SHUT UP!

I have not dogged this flexible bullet; it has reached its target. I walk on.

There are tears in my eyes and I feel defeated but because of my possibly muddled brain, I also feel excitement, anticipation. A happy nervous twitch settles on my hands. My body and mind are two different things now and tonight only one is in command. There is a man there, hands in his pockets, looking down and smoking a cigarette. I assume he is the carrier.

Scavenging another lifeless building has presented itself and I swell with content because it has no established inhabitants. The need to be left in peace is something I require. The bag screams, it's calling me, taunting me. I am ashamed of what I have done in order to get this next fix; I won't relay the details for you. Now that I have the drug with me, my mind looses its slight fog and a recollection of the nights events have come escalating down; shame is a powerful emotion reader. I scream roughly at the wall. My fists hit it repeatedly as I cry out. I feel fucking filthy; this repugnance is something that won't go away with a shower.

Exhausted, I slide down with my face stuck to the wall. I'm sure there will be bruises tomorrow and I can already feel the burning sensation of open wounds but I deserve the punishment. With shaky hands, I reach for the kill, my breathing speeds up. Pathetic. I hold the small needle in the palm of my hand and stare at it. Swallowing deeply I slowly bring the needle to my arm.

"_I promise Bella, I promise_" the distinct tone of my mothers desperate voice sings out to me and I snap my eyes open. The syringe is pushing into my skin and I extract it from my hands. What the FUCK am I doing!? Angry tears swell up and I briskly swipe them away. I fling the piece of plastic weakly. It lands a few feet away.

I pick it back up again a while later. The high wears off after a while.

My body shakes and I am not sure if it is because of the freezing cold or the drug. Right now, it's hard to tell. I slowly reach a fetal position, knees to chest. Silent sobs escape me, I hear myself calling out to Reene, and my unknown father. Tonight I am beaten by fuzzy memories. I can recall that I once lived here, with my father. There is screaming and shattering. I see a girl calling out to a man. Daddy I think she says. With some mental force I stop there, will it to happen. I haven't remembered so much in a long time. It's disconcerting to actually recall these events. My body has been trained to live by the second and now I don't want to remember.

I am afraid of what lies in my hidden subconscious.

__

A strong current of wind slaps me awake. Stiffly I unlock my limbs and they scream in protest. It's bitterly freezing out here. I am not used to this. The tune is dully playing in the background and I focus on its soothing wavelengths. The distinct "_AhahsAHahhAhAHAah_" is back, I embrace it. If I keep moving then surely I will start to defrost.

I have my head down and the hood of my sweater covers most of my face, there isn't a necessity for people to know me. The sun shines down a cool frosty yellow and I lift my head hoping to warm up. That's when I spot him. He is on the edge of the thick railing that encloses the bridge I am currently crossing and his hands are holding onto the bulky metallic wires. His hair is flying in many directions and I have the impression that he resembles an angel. He is wearing a light almost see through white polo and slightly torn jeans. I idly wonder if he is cold.

The coppery color of his mane creates a sharp contrast against his pale skin and my hands have a strange itch to sketch him. That's odd, I haven't done that in what appears to be ages.

I approach him silently and curiously, wondering why he wants to commit suicide. His lips are moving but I cant' seem to catch everything he is saying. There are snippets of words I grasp; I think he is giving himself a pep talk. I snort, amateur. He is aware of my presence now. I stare back coolly as his eyes stare back recklessly. Curiosity wins out.

"What the are you doing?" I question. You may wonder why I am not panicking; you could say I am immune to panic.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I repeat myself, my voice slower though, a subtle insult. This time I insert one of my favorite expletives.

"If you are going to kill your self at least have the decency to ensure death upon impact." I haven't spoken that much since… Huh, I can't remember the last time I held an intelligent conversation with someone (Jacob doesn't count, he grasped more from my silence than my words). However, this doesn't really fall under the "TALKING" category, considering the circumstances.

"You know, I can give you some pointers" I say thoughtfully. He remains quiecent; I am starting to question whether he is speech impaired, or deaf. I am surprised. My social skills are coming back. Ha. Ha. Maybe it's the complete suicidal act he has going on, it puts us an even playing field. With a jerk of my head in his direction, I speak again.

"You could tie some rocks to your ankles, make sure you don't have a chance to-" he interrupts me and I find him smiling. He whispers.

"It's really magical up here, can't wait to join them," his voice is dreamy and slurred as he smiles lovingly at the river below.

"Join who?" His bizarre answer is a little unsettling.

"Them" He jerks his head down at the river. His evasiveness is irritating.

"Who's 'them'?'" I form quotations around the last word and approach his tranquil form.

"The Fish!" I quirk an eyebrow up at him, as he happily sings out and don't know if I should be laughing or trying to get this guy down. The chuckles win. After clearing my throat, I continue.

"Come up here" he beckons me. I decide it's worth a sot, the view might be nice.

"You're going to have to help me here buddy, I have coordination issues." I extend my hand up at him and when we've made contact a short visible spark goes off, he giggles.

"You're electric!" he exclaims happily. My hand is still in his. I am having second thoughts now that I feel the sharp wind. I never really was the suicidal type. He doesn't look like he is either. I pull. Hard.

He looses his balance and falls on top of me. An unattractive sound comes from my mouth as I feel the air pushing out of my lungs. We land with a shrill thump. He doesn't make a move to get up.

"Hey buddy" I shake his shoulder.

"Get up, your cutting of my life support" I feel my chest tighten as his weight crushes me down.

"Get off!" I scream and with a last shove, he rolls. I work to regain my breathing. My head turns in his direction and I groan. Pushing my self up on my knees, I move towards him.

"Hey" I shove him, his head bobs. Shit. Fearing that I have just committed murder when my intensions were to salvage I look around me. Pay Phone! I scramble towards it but stop mid stride; my pockets are empty. I look back the guy.

"Sorry dude, but I'm trying to save your ass," I nicely apologize as I shake the money out of his wallet. Thank god he has the sense to keep change. Four quarters are displayed in my palm and I rush to the pay phone.

"What is your emergency?" I snap to attention as the male voice answers.

"There is a guy passed out on…" I look around me, what is the name of this bridge?!

"A bridge," I finish lamely, my voice is nervous. Figures everything should just backfire on me when I try to act like a proper citizen.

"C-c-an you trace my call? I don't know where I am." I say a little shakily. He reassures me that the ambulance will be coming in a few minutes and before he can tell me to stay on the line, I hang up. Looking back at the guy I approach his dormant form, whispering one last farewell.

"Good Luck."

The sirens wail in the background as I walk away.


	4. Deal

"I come here to think"

My arms were crossed and supporting the back of my head as I gazed up the stars, the moon illuminating the meadow I was currently in, quite nicely. My voice came of in a clear whisper, I didn't want to disturb the calm I was feeling. The ground was soft as I felt the mildly wet flowers I was crushing push against my body. It took him some time to reply. I dragged a piece of stray hair that wasn't concealed inside my hood, twirled it, and continued to stare at the sky not really seeing anything.

"About?" his voice rang clear.

I propped my body up on my elbows and for a coupled of minutes studied his face. He was sitting on the ground hugging his knees, head on top, the pressure of his head against his knees giving him an involuntary pout. _Is it a little weird that I am looking at his lips long enough to notice?_ I ignored that voice and continued to examine. He hadn't changed clothes it seemed, the whole of his jeans revealed more prominent skin as his knees pushed it out. The skin there was a bit scared but otherwise smooth. I saved his eyes for last. He met my gaze evenly.

His eyes held emotions that I could identify with, a troubled and a secretive look. Guarded. There was also the slight curiosity; it was as like staring at a mirror image of my emotions. Except his were a deep staggering green, my eyes were unimpressive, except for the slight gray film that sometimes surrounded it, if you looked close enough. He was in no position to do that. We were strangers.

"How did you hurt you knee?" I motioned towards his left leg. My arms were beginning to fall sleep so I eased myself down again. My left leg brushed his right by accident and an electric shock sparked again. I stared at the spot while he stared at me.

"You avoided the question" no shit. His quiet voice had a slight calming affect and I closed my eyes. We had been shocked twice now, I was not going to bring it up and it seemed like neither was he. I didn't really need to know about his knee injury.

"What was the verdict at the hospital?" That was a bit more important. He sighed.

"You aren't going to answer are you?" his voice stated what I already knew.

"No" might as well clear that up. He let the subject drop. I heard the faint chirp of insects in the night. Strangely enough, this wasn't awkward like I expected it to be. He seemed content enough to just _be_. I was lost in thought when his voice broke me out of my current trance.

"How about I make you a deal?" His voice startled me.

"I don't play twenty questions" My eyes were closed and my tone was less than friendly. I could feel his eyes on my face. I had an idea what the deal would entail. _"I ask you a question; you get to ask one in return."_ Such childish bullshit. He ignored my comment with a small snort.

"You answer my questions and I'll bring you anything you want," close enough.

"Why do you want to know about me so much?" It was unnerving, this guy wanted to know me. ME.

"You intrigue me" His answer was simple. I creased my eyebrows. I lifted my head and looked at him, studying him. Was this guy serious? I was reminded of Mormon boy, with one exception; this guy wanted something in return, something greater than the sound of my voice. The risk was almost too much. I laid back down, the tension in my forehead wasn't gone.

"What about my questions?" I opened my eyes and saw shock cover his gaze but his face was completely composed. We held a staring contest; my chin lifted a bit. I felt mild guilt creep up, he doesn't want to talk about his problems and as a fellow fucked up person I should recognize that. Too bad that I don't care, and from the look in his eyes it doesn't seem like he does either.

"I'll answer them" his voice defeated and a bit hesitant.

"All?" I was equally intrigued by this guy.

"Alright, one exception though, it starts off lightly" he conceded. _Ah_ so he knew I would ask about the bridge incident.

"Nothing rough? Not at first at least?" I clarified. I needed to know the rules for his deal. No way in fucking hell was I letting him find a loophole.

"Keep it trivial. We are only allowed to talk about our shit when the other person brings it up" I smirked a little. I was rubbing off on him, this was the first time I'd heard him curse. I'd covered everything I could think of. With my arm extended out to him I spoke.

"Deal"

"Deal"

___

It's been two nights and no show. I went out on a limb and trusted him, shitty luck I have with people. It's strange that I am not surprised, he was nothing but a stranger and our encounter was coincidental, I don't even know his name. My gaze shifts towards the darkness behind my eyes.

_The girl is walking into the forest… her stomach is growling. She starts salivating at the thought of food, an apple, a piece of bread, cheese, milk… Something! Anything! At least the monstrosity of the need for drugs has calmed down a bit, but it's always there. Always. The woods have become her home now, its better than the hard concrete she was once used to. The forest isn't all things warm though. It can get pretty fucking cold, if she does say so herself. She's gotten a job at the local pizza place but they won't pay until they "evaluate" her. When in hell did pizza places require a resume? Not once, from what she can remember. She can't trust the berries and plants here, she knows squat about botany. Anything could be poisonous. Her stomach growls again. She tells it to shut up. _

_Deciding that she's gone far enough, her steps slow down a bit and she settles on the slightly piney ground. They push into her skin and she thinks briefly of her mothers acupuncture period. The ghost of a smile crosses her features. Her mother…. its been so long…. No! no time for that now. She twists and turns until she finds a relatively comfortable position. She ends up in a slight fetal position. Knees tucked (close to her chest), arms under head. Her eyed drift to a close and she dozes off._

_When she awakes once again, its to the sound of slight movement. Rustling. She freezes and mentally thinks about how to push a guys nose into his brain. Or how to run away from an animal. She hopes it's a person. Then at least she knows she has a chance at survival. From what she's seen, Forks Washington doesn't hold weak game. Slowly, as to not disturb the person/thing she gets up slowly. On her knees. The movement stops. She halts her movements. Her knees are crying out for her to move. Too concentrated on listening to any sounds she misses the touch of a hand circling her arm until the person attached to that limb slightly squeezes. She screams, kicks, hears a grunt and takes off running. Her breathing low and shallow. _

_She has no idea where she is going and this makes her slightly panic before she hears a voice call out. Male. Why the freak did it have to be a man? She pushes her legs faster and sees a break in the woods. Her body is flooded with relief and her footsteps stager a little. She idly wonders why she doesn't hear any cars or sees the road. _

_She soon finds out why. _

_This isn't the edge of the woods as she had predicted. It's a freaking meadow. _

_Just her fucking luck. _

_Light traitor tears escape her eyes and she grows immensely livid. Why now? She knows she's sinned, yes but why end it this way? Why not some tropical disease that can kill her slowly? Why death by possible rape? Tears stream down, she's running across the meadow now and feels as exposed as ever. The moon shines down too much, too much open space…_

"_Wait!" That voice… her steps falter once again but she doesn't stop running until she reaches the end of the meadow. Then and only then does she slowly turn around. In all his shining and sweating glory is suicide boy. She guesses that he can see the silhouette of her body and that's why he has stopped. Is her mind playing tricks on her? She looks harder and when she sees him move she yells out._

"_Stop!" he follows her order to the sentence. He knows who she is, or at least recognizes her. She realizes this. Her steps are cautious and a bit uneven, there is a slight tremor coursing through her legs. Her last final step uncovers her and they stare at each other for what seems to be hours, examining, studying. She is once again calm._

"_Suicide boy?" the nickname slips and she regrets to see his face minimally fall. It had been a face of hope and …. Joy? She can't tell. _

"_You _are_ real" he breathes out. She stares at him in confusingly, there is tension in her forehead._

"_What?" she asks him, well yells specifically. The meadow is wide and maybe a good twenty feet in diameter. The girl and the boy don't realize it but they are stepping closer to each other. She is laying down on the grass now. He's safe enough she decided, he sits down close to her. _

"_What do you do here?"_

_And so the questions begin… _

"Are you asleep?" he startles me with a small poke in the arm

"Officially, yes" My voice is gruff, I haven't spoken in days.

"Rumor has it you pretend"

"Yes so I read in Vogue, pure gossip I tell you"

"Now let me sleep." I turn onto my side and something slides over me. It's warm.

"Blanket?" I venture a guess, while enclosing my self around the cozy material.

"Yeah"

"Thanks" I yawn, already dozing off to the familiar tune.

"_Well I could sleep forever"_

I wake up sometime later… someone… someone is…singing? No, no it's humming, yes that's it.

"Hey" my voice is low and scratchy. How late is it? I am resting on my elbows. Squinting.

"Hey!" This time louder. My eyes are open and I look up at the sky, the moons still out, must be around midnight. I haven't slept like that in a while. I try again. No luck. With a huff, I get up and immediately miss the warmth of the blanket. The wind is biting.

"Hey!!" This time I emphasize my yell, I shove him a bit. He startles, his eyes are wide and I smile. Sheepishly I apologize. He grins and removes his headphones. The music is blaring from its spot on the ground. I fantasize that the headphones are shaking.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" My eyes grow wide and I fight back the growl that threatens to escape my mouth. What the fuck is wrong with me? I see his grin disappear. My apologies become more pronounced and hurried.

"Clearly I have poor word choice. Forgive me?"

"On one condition" I raise an eyebrow. He grins.

"Don't call me suicide boy. Ever." I can't help it, I laugh. My hood falls back and I hurry to place it over myself, its freaking cold out here.

"All right…" My sentence is left hanging in the air, I still haven't learned his name.

"Edward" he supplies.

"Edward" The name rolls off my tongue comfortably. He eyes me. His look is expectant. Oh.

"Bella, the names Bella," my voice is explanatory.

"Alright Bella… ready to begin?"This guy does not beat around the bush. I sit down cross-legged, back straight, shoulders back.

"Ready" There is a stir in his eyes. He mirrors my position.

Let the games begin.

__

"Favorite color?" It's my turn.

"Violet"

"You?"

"Black"

"Nice choice" I nod.

"Next song" I bob my head to the beat of the steady guitar.

"Never pegged you for a Kingsmen fan there Edward" We are leaning close together, the length of his headphones forcing us to. Our heads almost touching, I believe I am the only one to take notice of this.

"This solo is Epic" He agrees with a smile.

"Can anyone ever really understand what he is saying?" All I hear is a _"Loui Loui" and _that's about it.

"Nope" The answer is direct and no further explanation is extended. We remain quiet until the song comes to an end. We've made a compromise, him and I. He gets to ask a question for every song that I find interesting and don't know. There were no more offers for today besides the blankets and we could both feel the gnawing curiosity eating away. I pegged for his music. I get to ask a question if I know the song.

"Full Name?" As promised we keep the subject light. _Light,_ it's as if whatever awaits us once these questions run out will be nothing but darkness. Which is mostly true.

"Edward Anthony Masen, named after my father."

"Nice"

"Not really" I shrug.

"Full Name?" his voice asks once he sees that I hesitate with the current song.

"Isabella Marie Dawyer, last name is not really mine." He raises an eyebrow.

"Not now" Although the answer isn't really that personal, the questions that would follow surely would be. I want to save it until the end, when all can be revealed equally.

"Name of song?" This song is appealing.

"Kings of Leon, Use somebody"

"Nice choice."

"Thanks"

__

**Here is what I've gathered from mysterious and kind Edward Cullen:**

1. He likes lyrics that aren't that appealing to others. Sad things preferably, with a bit of happiness throwing in there to keep him sane. That isn't working out to well.

2. He has substantial amounts of money for a teenager (At least in camping equipment).

3. Father: Anthony Masen, Mother: Elizabeth Masen

4. 2 Blankets, 1 thermo, 1 sleeping bag, toothbrush, _toothpaste_, along any other necessary toiletries.

5. He has a passion for music and is learning how to play the piano. He has promised to teach me someday. _Right_.

6. He has an obsession with speed. Not the drug.

7. Doesn't understand the generation he has been born into. Appreciates its perks but the people in it can have shitty personalities, most morals have gone out the window. I concur.

**Here is what I, Isabella Marie, have granted him:**

1. My Name

2. Mothers Name: Renee Dawyer, Father: incommunicado

3. The fact that I am a junkie

4. That I am trying to stay clean

5. I enjoy solitude, or rather have learned to enjoy it

6. My life wasn't always this fucked up, he concurs.

7. Company (his words)

8. My great writing skills (pen and paper provided by: Him)

9. Last: ways to survive on the streets

In retrospect, I cannot offer much besides my personality, stories with messed up endings (he enjoys these) and my company. Never have I been so selfish. It's liberating. He comes over almost every night now and I find that I crave his company, he has confined in me that he does too. I'd blushed when I'd told him. I never blush.

Strange things are happening reader.

Strange things.

All because of this bronze haired boy.


	5. Revelations

I haven't been this content in a while. I smile a lot more now, reader and it sounds cliché to say this but he has brought a certain glow into my life. I am grateful. It's been months now and the urge to get a fix has lessened immensely. However, it is there and I am afraid to share what I feel with him, in fear of jinxing the whole thing. I've stopped cursing a bit. I told you strange things were happening. Blame him. This little meadow has turned into a kind of sanctuary for me, a home of sorts. A camp.

We don't talk much about life outside of this small bubble we have created. The meadow has become a haven from the monotonous life that I go through, and I assume, from what goes on in his house. There isn't much to do during the day besides work and enrolling in school is not something I want to do right now. I am not incompetent but there are too many things that would come to light if I ever did. I am holding off on education for now. At least until I turn eighteen.

"I come bearing gifts for thou!" his voice cries out and I smile. He has gotten into the custom of greeting me differently each day. I keep up as best I can.

"Oh! Kind Graceful sir, you surely jest!" I return. He chuckles and I laugh freely. Standing, I look questionably at the bulging pack of equipment that delicately balances on his back.

"Shakespeare?"

"Jack pot"

"Do you need help? I am an expert" he grins.

"Seriously?" The look in his eyes finishes the sentence for him, it says: _I didn't think someone like you would have read something as sophisticated as Shakespeare_. It doesn't really bother me that much.

"Yes Edward I wasn't a total bimbo back in my high school days you know"

"I wasn't trying to say- that- you are…" I wave off his apologies. He is only human after all, humans make assumptions too easily, I should know. But right now, the bulging pack on his back is more interesting, I can explain the other shit later.

"Going somewhere?" my voice is teasing.

"Nope, this is for us" he eyes me and seems to find whatever he was looking for because his stance is dramatically more relaxed.

"…ok?" He is especially cheery today; it has been bad back home. He tries to be a happier when stuff is going on in his house I can't comprehend why but it has something to do with not being a burden to others. His words, not mine. I say: bullshit. I think it's because his parents all have an "image" but I don't have enough details to come to the right conclusion and since the deal was to not ask anything personal I have to hold back.

" Are _we_ going somewhere?" _That_ other subject can wait until we are in the inquisitive section of these nightly rituals.

"No, but it's supposed to rain today and well…" He waves his hands to explain what words seem to lack the ability to do; the _thing_ on his back is a tent. I stare.

"That" I point "Is all for me, or, well, us?" He nods. Wow.

"Need help?" What else can I say? "Thank you for making me you charity case" doesn't fit because I know that's not why he does it. Deal aside, he has other motives for his actions. He nods and takes off the bulging monstrosity. The thing is **huge**. It seems to be fairly new and there are instructions on how to set it up, I think we are both unconsciously choosing not to touch. I don't want a repeat of the spark touching fiasco.

__

It's been a while now and no sign of rain.

"Are you SURE it's going t-" I don't even get to finish as the drops of water start pouring down on us. I hear thunder close by and shiver a little. Getting struck by lighting is not on my "things to do before I die" list. We work even faster than before but it's almost pointless, water accumulates in the material of my sweater and I feel it weighing me down.

"There we go, now c'mon! it's freezing out there! Get in!" I hesitate but the warmth that the tent is giving off is too tempting. Slowly I go in; I've never been in a room with a boy, much less a _tent_. Even if this boy has turned into a friend of sorts it's still unnerving.

As soon as we are settled, the silence kicks in and what's worse this isn't the comfortable silence I'm used to, it's tense. We've never been this close before, well we have but not under the confines of a tent that gives an illusion of being much, much closer than before.

The silence gets awkward and I really can't talk, the only audible sound in this clustered space is the chatter of my teeth. The Click-tic-clack is uncontrollable and frankly it's getting on my nerves, a lot seems to be doing that lately. Maybe I'm going through withdrawal symptoms, who gives a fuck.

"I don't know about you, but I'm fucking cold" I exhale visibly and ride out a shudder that seems to last forever. My attempt to change the mood doesn't fall flat on its ass. I seem to have snapped him out of whatever trance he was in and he finally looks at me.

"Jesus Bella, take off your sweater you'll die under there," his tone is reprimanding me.

"Not such a bad thought"

"Stop it." There is a hint of anger in his voice. I obey.

"I'm serious, you have to take it off, there is too much blood rushing to your brain" his voice is soft but strong. Fuck, off all the times, why now? This is how he has to see my scars? There is the sound of friction only a match can make and I stare at him, my body turning.

"Why do you have a match?"

"You will die under there, take that monstrosity off" I blow on the wooden match and we are enclosed in darkness again. I can still make out his silhouette because of the occasional lighting that strikes.

He stares at me and I see that if I don't comply, he will, forcibly. I stare back but he doesn't back down. Dam him.

"I'll do it but you have to turn around"

"C'mon Bells don't be such a-"

"I mean it"

"Seriously?"

"Yes"

"Well then." I smile wanly at his attempt to lighten things up. We are both about to dive off the cliff of surprise. Strangely, this seems to be some sort of test for me and I suspect maybe for him. What will he do once he sees my disfigured arms? Because that's what they are now. At least to me.

Slowly I peel off the material that seems to want to turn into another layer of my skin. The zipper seems louder than it really is, it's so freaking quiet. _There. The sweaters off, was that really that bad? Fuck yeah._

"Done, you happy?" My hair is partly covering my face and I don't see his body turning in time to stop him.

"Wait! Ed-" Too fucking late, shitty luck I have. My head is turned away and facing the floor, do I really want to see the look of pity in his eyes? I decide that I really pretty fucking don't. I hear the match again. Surprisingly there is no gasp.

"Look at me," His voice if light and soft. No.

"Look. At. Me." How about, drum roll please? Nooooo. I hear a faint sigh.

"You know you have nothing to be ashamed of right?" My very lady reply? A humorless snort. Yeah right, pigs will fly when I believe that one.

"I'm serious Bella, we're both fucked up and we know it, why would you be ashamed of showing me your scars?" He voice is gentle and I can barely hear it.

"I didn't want you to see them this way… I was waiting for… " I falter. This is irritating, being at a loss for words.

"I don't know what the fuck I was waiting for! Alright?! But really this isn't the best way, you gotta give me that one Edward" I still can't look at him. An animalistic sound comes form his throat. A growl.

He shoves his wrist under my eyes.

"This one here marks the day I turned sixteen" What is he doing? This isn't part of the-

"You don't have to-" I try to protest but the urge to know outweighs everything. Selfishness is a bottomless pit.

"I know. Now listen." His voice is firm.

"This one is the day I turned seventeen" His removes one wrist and is quickly replaced by another one.

"And the rest? I don't know what the fuck they're for, ok? See? nothing to be ashamed of Bella, you cant beat a fuck up that tries t-" My hand makes contact with his mouth and we spark. I've heard enough for one night. I dot want him to regret his hasty decision to confess some very personal crap.

"You gonna be quiet now?" Hand still over mouth, I ask. He nods.

"Good," We sit in silence and I eventually remove my hand. It quivers. I stare at it. Huh.

"Why do you have matches?" _Let's start it off easy Edward. _He seems to take this in and without missing a beat he answers my question.

"Because I tried to set my bed on fire, dam firefighters got there too quickly" I stare, he doesn't burst out laughing like some other times. Wholly shit, he is serious. My hands are quivering but it's not because of the cold. Why are my eyes stinging? Why is it hard to swallow?

"Why did you try again?" I disguise the crack in my voice with a light cough. Why does it fucking matter so much that he tried to end his life? A taunting voice in the back of my head answers back, _you thought you were making a difference, and you thought you were that important. _It laughs mockingly at me and with a sudden despair; I realize the voice is right. Why is it that feelings creep up on you and you only take notice when it is too fucking late?

I sap my teeth together holding back the tears. I thought that whatever we had was solid. That I would always see him every day, he would share his music, and I would answer his questions. What fucking utter bullshit. When had I ever come to this conclusion? I want to scream out loud at this piece of news, reality seems to sink in unexpectedly. It makes my bones cold. Edward can end his life at wish and I can't really do anything to stop it. I don't have the hold I unconsciously thought I did.

Well fuck it.

Nothing ever lasts does it?

I don't wait for him to answer.

"My earliest memory is waiting in front of a school building asking myself why my mom hadn't shown up yet, I was seven." If this is the last time I see him, then what do I have to loose? Holding back because of irrational fears seems trivial next to loosing the small stability I had gained. Along with a friend.

"Did you know that doctors say that a person should be able to remember something from the age of three and up? The brain automatically hides any information that it feels would be harmful to the mental development of a child. I can't remember anything below the age of seven. How fucked up am I? Don't answer that."

"Bell-"

"You wanted to know. So here it is, I'm laying it all out for you, front and center." I cast another fleeting look. Does he hear the double meaning in my words? I can't tell.

"I've always taken care of my mom, ever since I was a little kid, she was a bit flaky with… well, life in general, I attributed this _flakiness_ as part of her attitude, later I would blame it on the drugs. She was doing drugs in small doses, she never really quit, even when I begged her to. I remember the first day I went to school; I remember figuring out that not everyone took care of their mothers. I remember how skinny, how _gaunt_ my mother looked next to the healthy pink on most mothers. I say most because some mothers picked their kids up with dark glasses. Even when it wasn't sunny.

The next few years were bits and pieces of the same thing; I had learned to cook already. By 12, I could keep myself alive. Renee wasn't really reliable by then. Oh sure, there were days when she would be clean but the urge was always too much for her. I wanted her to go to some sort of rehabilitation center but she said they would take her away and my childish mind couldn't bare to think like that, she was all I had. All we had were each other. I kept quiet. Now I think she didn't want to give up the sweet taste of her high.

For a while we were happy, I remember feeling happy. She had fetishes with certain things; maybe flakiness _was_ part of her attitude. I don't know. There was a classical, art, acupuncture, even a gardening period. You name it, she's probably done it. That's when she met Phil. Phil was all right and since I didn't really have an attributed last name by then, I became Isabella Marie Dawyer. She threw him out, the one thing that may have been good for her she discarded. I think he was trying to convince her to go to rehab, she got tired, needed someone new. I don't know, take your pick.

Cue in good ole Ja-"

The sudden contact of his hands over mine stops me mid sentence. He looks at me and seems to hesitate. I stare back.

"Ok," He cuts through the silence "That's enough" his voice is quiet and I realize his voice is always this way when he talks to me. Gentle and patient, it's as if he thinks me fragile. I try to find the common response whenever I come to such revelations but I can't. There is no anger, just a small pain in my chest, swelling, growing bigger. It's hard to breathe.

"Please look at me?" I cannot respond, my voice is lost and I find it's hard to form words. What is this? I look up at him. His eyes hold a look of sorrow and in one swift moment I am encircled in his arms.

Sometimes it's a small caress, hug, pat, smile, or maybe even a word that will brake a person. Edward's hug did that to me. I broke, and like a dam, all the tears I hadn't allowed myself to consciously shed came pouring out. I cried about my past, about what I had allowed myself to become. But most of all I cried for Edward and how little time I had with him. How everything could change in a matter of seconds. All because of him, it was all in his hands.

Somewhere along the late hours of the night, darkness overtook me.

I slept in Edward's arms.


	6. Understanding

****

**Hi..... so this is really fucking late as you all may have noticed (excuse the expletive) I had to push and shove my brain for this to come out. You will not believe the time I spent erasing and typing and agonizing over this tiny piece of a chapter but it had to be done. I sigh, you may be confused but I just said what the hell and just went with it. This has to happen, just know that. If you're confused, leave a review or pm me. I'll explain as much as I can. This isn't that great... I don't think.**

**p.s. Writer's block is a total and unforgiving bitch. moving on now....**

The dream ends there, always fucking ends there. I come clean with all my shit, get the warm embrace, and what the freak do I wake up to?

White. Every where. The walls, the bed, the floor, even the fucking _chairs._ My body starts to shake and before I know what's happening it becomes hard to breathe. It becomes hard to swallow. It becomes hard to stay still. I gasp and start to tremble. The tears start their descent on my cheeks and the throb in my throat lessens a little. Fucking relief. I let my body empty itself out, just hurt and cry over something that is so vague. I always wake up to black night and cold rooms. I always want to punch something. The wall always looks inviting.

_A fucking dream. _

This isn't some heart felt pitiful cry over a lost love in some melodrama movie. This is fucking frustration because I don't fucking know what's real anymore. What am I dreaming? What am I remembering? What am I making up to placate my own longing for him? This is panic and anxiety. I just don't know anymore. And this makes me mother fucking angry. The sobs turn to miniscule growls of rage and the hands that where previously below my chin start to curl and fist around my hair. I pull and start to kick at the bed, causing friction burns on the calves and ankles of my legs. The anger has to diffuse _somehow_. And while I know that none of it is his fault, none of it _can_ be his fault I punch the wall one more time and spit out a low _fuck you_.

_A mother efing dream. A freaking dream. He doesnt exist. _

I roughly pull at the covers and kick them off, which only serves to entangle them more strongly around my legs. I choke back growls as I kick even harder against the strain on my legs. This somehow relieves some of my anger and I start to cry again, collapsing in minute exhaustion. The sobs are pitiful and hoarse; I've spent too much time screaming.

"Where are you?" my voice is raspy and thin. Weak. I try to swallow and this time the tears come wordlessly. Rapidly. My vision becomes blurry.

_A dream. That's it. It's all just a dream.  
_Something breaks.

All I had were bits and pieces of dreams that were questionable. That could or could not be true. The duality was unnerving. Not knowing who you were, where you came from, it was all blank to me. I only had time to escape in my dreams. Precious dreams, amazing, purifying, calming dreams that stared the one person that everyone said wasn't real. But you have to understand, to _see_, that I needed Edward to be real. Needed him like a drug.

The calming song took over.  
I slept.

***

The cold floor numbed me awake.


	7. Help

**Chapter 7: Unknown**

I lift my limbs and wonder how I collapsed on the floor. With my face pushed against the white marble. Balancing my weight lightly on one leg I try to remain up right as I walk to the sweat dried sheets. The gust of air that means I'm falling upon the sheets seems to refresh my face slightly. I cringe back. The sheets are cold, their smell pungent, yet I can't seem to move my face. There are hairs caked on top of my cheeks. I close my eyes.

In this facility the only help you get is the one the meds can provide and I am no longer inclined to actually try any more drugs, no matter the relief. There are days that I wake up to that dream and there are days I remember other things. I don't how or why I lost my memory but I've learned that my brain works that way. It shuts down when too many unpleasant things happen, it forgets. I may have trained it that way but running away has never been an issue, in any form. It's the remembering that bites you in the ass later on.

I'm remembering, and all of it isn't pretty. Quite frankly, most of it is fucked up shit.

"_Hi Miss" _

"_Hello" the girl is trying her hardest to be polite, not curse. No cursing. That's what the social worker told her. No snide remarks. None. They won't take you if you talk back and protest. The girl stares straight ahead at the older woman in front of her and then shifts her gaze on the older man. They're willing to take me in, she thinks. She just wants all this moving around to be over. She wants something stable for once. _

_She's going to open her heart up one more time.  
The disappointment will crush her. Turn her heart into one made of stone. I want to scream out to her, warn her, but I can't. I am only a spectator when these things happen. _

"_Isabella why don't you go check out one of your rooms" the gaze in her eyes has changed and she gives Esme a small smile before going up the stairs. The house is strangely quiet as she pushes her weight against each step. The bathroom, hallways decorated with paintings. This woman would make a fortune decorating homes. Everything gives a feeling of being welcome. Wanted. Oh, how she's missed that feeling. _

_She can hear them speaking downstairs, the social workers voice mixing in with the nice lady's strong but soft voice. _

_She spends her time exploring the house until they call her down. She puts on the mask again and walks down. The feigned interested face that she portrays is for her own protection. The nice lady might not want her. _

"_Isabella" the social worker never caught on that she preferred Bella. After a small pause she continues. "How would you like to live here?"_

"_Seriously?" Her grin matches that of her new 'mother'. What a silly thought, new mother, as if mothers could be exchanged for better, more modified ones when they no longer work. She wishes the world was that simple, one thing in exchange of another. _

My eyes shoot open.  
Esme.  
The shock passes quickly this time but lingers like a forgotten dream.

She was nice. She was a noble loving person but she had flaws and like any other human being she wasn't perfect. It was wrong to expect so much from her. To expect her to provide me with what my mother had taken away. I placed Esme in a pedestal that was always out of reach. I thought too highly of her. I shouldn't have. It would have saved the disappointment from being as crushing as it was.

_On the day of the second month she lies in bed and thinks that maybe, just maybe there will be hope at the end. She's lost any naïve innocence that was once there but maybe Esme can change that, can help her heal. She drifts off with a small smile on her face. There are no dreams of her mother that night. _

I turn over, my body sluggish and weak. The sweat and grease in my hair stain my face; I shove the stray pieces aside. There is something missing, something is out of place. Why am I here now if all I remember are good times? I force my head to remember anything, something, everything.

_The girl's breathing is heavy and quick. It is panic she feels in her stomach. People are screaming downstairs. Things are crashing and there is the sound of pounding flesh. Methodological hits with no protests, just the constant beat. Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud…._

A sound comes out of my airwaves and leaves a momentary ache in my throat. The shrill sound repeats itself. It's not until the white uniforms come in and tie me to the bed that I realize the piercing sound had been me. I'd screamed.

Men in white uniforms run in and I almost want to laugh. It all seems like a bad clichéd movie about a misunderstood girl. _One flew over the cuckoo's nest_ anyone? My situation is in no way similar to that of the movie, I can't help but compare. The two men strap me down and I thrash against them, hopelessly hoping to win. The feeling of vulnerability that being forced and controlled caused in me was disgusting. I felt impotent, unable to do anything but watch. Yet I still fought relentlessly against their hands, kicking, screaming, spitting and cursing at them. I hate this.

*****hahhsiudaosid**

Parts of my eyelids feel glued together, pasty you could say. I stare at the man in front of me. His blond straight hair that is neatly pushed back interests me more than his eyes, they have hints of gold in them. I shrug minutely trying to feel comfortable under his stare. Yes, the doctor is staring at me. How new. He does this every week, waiting for me to talk, waiting for **ME **to contribute. I blow air out of my mouth in a big gust and finally look at those deep golden eyes. I tilt my head.

"Aren't you suppose to start talking or something?" it's annoying. He's new here and I expect him to be the same as all the others. All the other therapists followed **THE BOOK** or at least I liked to call it that. They followed so many rules, it was unnerving. I did one little thing and suddenly there was a new administration of drugs for dear old Bella. Fucking annoying if you asked me.

"Are you annoyed?" there is a lift on his lips and it takes me a second to recognize it for what it is. A small contained grin. Asshole.

"No I'm just peachy" I sit up straight and put my hands together as I answer him, a big grin plastered on my face. I have to urge to stupidly make my head over tilt but suppress it. He could be like the others in more than one way. He could be violent. I relax against the couch and lift my knees up. By the time I look up at his face the smile is gone and I feel opposing emotions. _You feel guilty_. That is definitely new and I try to figure out why I would feel shame to have done such a thing, why this man? The answer comes quickly as I stare at him. His whole essence screams trust.

"No, seriously, aren't you supposed to be writing something down? Something about my rude behavior and how that's all related to some childhood trauma?" He grins. I freeze. I look down and try to blink the tears away. His small grin….. His crooked smile. Fuck. So similar, I shake and curl my hands into fists. I can't cry here. Not here. Not here. Not here. Not here….. Not-

"I'm just here to talk to you." His voice is quiet and I sense he knows what's happening. Seeing no response he continues.

"Why don't we start off by introducing ourselves?" he's being nice and I suddenly feel weary. My shoulders hunch, I shrug and shift my eyes. Still looking down, I open my mouth.

"Name's Bella" My voice cracks.

"My name is Carlisle Cullen" he acts as though I'm normal, as if it's normal to brake down because of a small grin. I give up. I look up and the tears fall freely. He lets me cry.

"You're here to help me?" I try to masticate the question but don't succeed. My voice comes off small and pained.

"Yes" he nods and offers me a box of Kleenex tissues. I'm just so tired, tired about all the non believing jerks that only fix things with medicine. I'm just so tired….

"Dr. Cullen, I've got these dreams……"

It is the first time I've cried in front of him.


End file.
